


vincit qui se vincit

by unacaritafeliz



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, I don't know if I will succeed, I'm trying to make this very ransom-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-13 14:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14114817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unacaritafeliz/pseuds/unacaritafeliz
Summary: "Aren't you scared that we're going to crash and burn?" Holster says. "Aren't you scared we're not going to make it as captains?""Yeah," Ransom says, because he can't be anything but honest when it comes to Holster. "Dude, of course I am. My brain keeps coming up with ways this could go wrong and it fucking terrifies me.""But you want to do this anyway?" says Holster.Ransom shrugs. "There's a non-zero chance that you and I are going to be amazing at this," he says. "And we owe it to ourselves, and to our team, to try."[Nobody stays the same forever. Justin Oluransi is no exception. My contribution to Ransom Week 2018]





	1. primum non nocere

**Author's Note:**

> He conquers who conquers himself.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First, to do no harm.

When Justin Oluransi was twelve years old, his mother knitted him a sweater.

Mrs. Anika Oluransi was good at a lot of things, even back then. She was a highly sought-after pediatrician, a caring and present mother and an expert mediator for when Justin got into silly fights with his sisters. She was a fantastic chef, an attentive proof-reader, and could destroy all three of her kids in 1-on-1 basketball. What she'd never been good at, though, was knitting.

The sweater had been... imperfect. The stitches were too loose and inconsistent, the stripes hadn't run in parallel, and the colours had clashed outrageously - Dami's beige hopeless against Justin's forest green and Ife's near-blinding fluorescent pink. Justin had hated it from the moment he saw it, but his mom had smiled so much when she'd made it, and she'd positively beamed when she'd presented the horrific matching sweaters to him and his sisters, that Justin couldn't help but tell her that it was beautiful, that he loved it, and that he'd be happy to wear it to school for photo day like she wanted.

Dami had thrown a leather jacket over hers, the photo showing just enough of it to placate her mother without embarrassing Dami in front of her friends. Ife had taken a change of clothes in her bag and swapped her sweater out as soon as she got to school, still too young to properly consider how their mom would feel when the photo arrived home with the sweater nowhere in sight. Justin had worn his uncovered, laughing off the gentle chirping of his friends and the less-than-gentle comments from some less-than-kind kids in his class. He'd hated it the entire day, but it had been worth it for the bright, unguarded smile on his mom's face when she saw the pictures.

And Justin had known in that moment that he'd do whatever he had to do to keep his mom smiling like that.

* * *

"I can't do it, D," Justin says into his phone. "I can't tell her."

He's sitting in his car in the car park of a small supermarket in downtown Toronto, just around the corner from his parents' house, on the phone with his big sister because he, a twenty year old, 200 pound, 6'2'' college hockey defenseman, is too damn scared to go home and face his tiny ethnic mother.

Dami's eye roll is somehow audible through the phone. "I thought you were over this, J," she complains.

"I'm literally going to walk into her home, at Christmas, and break her heart, Dami," says Justin, burying his face in his free hand. "That's how I'm going to repay her for everything she's ever done for me."

Dami sighs, loud and long suffering. "Holster's theatrics have rubbed off on you, baby bro," she says.

Justin can't help but wince, remembering how Holster had started yelling at him the first time Justin had tried to talk to him about it. It had been the first time the two of them hadn't seen eye-to-eye on something.

"You know he's mad at me about this too," Justin says, as if he hasn't told Dami about this 100 times before. "And if Holster is mad at me about it, then Mom is going to be fucking furious."

"But, like, Holster is white, Justin," Dami says. "He's just mad at you because he doesn't understand."

"Yes, and mom will be mad at me because she won't understand," Justin says. It's not a whine, but even he can admit it's a close thing.

"Look, J," Dami says, forcefully. "You, like, hate hurting or upsetting people, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Justin says, because that's obvious. Dami knows that better than anyone. "Like, that's literally why we're in this situation, D."

"So, how come that doesn't extend to hurting or upsetting yourself?" she asks.

Justin blinks. He's never really thought about it that way, but... that's not the same thing, is it? Surely, there's bias in considering his own feelings, isn't there? Keeping his mom happy has to be the most important thing, doesn't it?

"That's different," he protests.

"It's really not," Dami says. "Going to med school right now is a terrible idea for you, and it will 100% hurt not only you but the rest of us when it does. So 'do no harm' or whatever and fucking tell mom that you're not going."

There's silence. Justin processes her words slowly, replaying them over in his mind, dissecting them into something he can understand.

"It's not selfish to be happy, J," Dami says.

Her words hit him like that first breath of fresh air after finals season.

Suddenly, everything makes sense.

"Okay," Justin says with a shaky exhale. "Okay, I'll talk to mom."

"Thank god!" Dami says. "You do that, and I'll finish packing so I can actually make it in time for Christmas, okay?"

"Yes, okay," Justin says. Thanks for listening, D. I love you."

"That's what I'm here for, bro," Dami says. "I love you too.

Justin hangs up his phone and stores it in the glovebox. He grips the steering wheel of the car tightly, mentally willing his fingers to reach out and turn the car back on. He closes his eyes and counts to ten, to twenty, to thirty but he still can't bring himself to drive home.

He jerks forward, grabs his phone and calls his mom.

"Hi, honey," his mom greets. Her voice is bright and happy, which does nothing to ease Justin's nerves. "Where are you?"

"I'm, uh, just around the corner?" Justin says, casually. That was an expression people used when they were close by, right? His mom wouldn't know he was literally hiding around the corner from his house because he was too afraid to go home, would she?

"That's great!' his mom responds, oblivious to Justin's racing thoughts. "I guess I'll see you soon then."

"Actually mom, there was something I wanted to talk to you about before I got home," Justin says, quickly.

"You want to talk to me about something now, over the phone, instead of waiting until you get here?" Justin's mom asks. There's skepticism in her voice, but no judgement. It's a good sign. "Jesus, Adam's theatrics have been rubbing off on you. What's wrong, honey?"

Justin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in.

"I haven't applied to any med schools yet and I'm not planning to do so this year or possibly maybe ever," he says, in a rush.

There's silence on the other end of the line. Justin can't bear it, so he rushes on. "It's just, I've never actually really thought about whether or not I even want to be a doctor, you know?" he says, quickly. "I just, always kind of assumed it was what I was going to do. But med school is just such a huge commitment of like both time and money, and mental energy too, I guess, and like I don't even know if it's worthwhile doing because I don't know what I want? And I know I'm disappointing you and dad, and I know you must be so upset with me..."

"Justin, honey, breathe," his mom says, calmly on the other end of the line. "I'm not disappointed or upset with you."

The words do not compute.

"B-But you want me to be a doctor," says Justin. "You've always wanted me to be a doctor. You've been talking about it since I was born!"

"Justin, it doesn't matter what I want," says his mom. "It would be awesome if you did become a doctor, but you are free to be whatever you choose to be. You're always free Your father and I will love and respect you, regardless of what decisions you make."

Justin chokes on a sob. He'd always felt like he was close to letting his parents down, like they'd only love him as long as he was the perfect son he tried so hard to be for them. It's a relief to hear that their love for him is as unconditional as his love for them.

"I thought I was letting you down," he murmurs, through his tears.

"Oh, honey, you could never let us down," his mom says, gently. "We're both so proud of you, Justin. You're so good, sweetheart. We just want you to be happy."

"I... thank you, mom," Justin says. "You know, I don't even know that I won't become a doctor later, you know? I just want some time to think about it without the pressure of exams and coursework and stuff. Does that make sense?"

"It makes perfect sense, Justin," his mom says. "I think a gap year sounds perfect for you. How about you come home and we can talk about it? I made jollof rice for you."

Justin's stomach growls. Bitty makes sure the team never goes hungry during the term, but there's nothing better than coming back home to Toronto for his mom's cooking.

"Yeah," says Justin. "Yeah, okay. I'll see you in about two minutes, mom."

"You were literally just around the corner," his mom says, laughing. "Okay, honey, see you soon. I love you, so much."

Justin smiles.

"I love you too, mom."


	2. atychiphobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fear of failure

When Justin Oluransi was seventeen, his coaches asked him to captain his high school hockey team.

They had made an excel spreadsheet full of statistics, and pivot tables and column charts - pie charts have always made Justin irrationally upset - and pulled him aside after practice to pitch it to him. They'd told him he's the perfect candidate for the captaincy; hard working, smart, talented on the ice and extremely well-liked and appreciated by the entire team. They told him about how good the captaincy would be for him; for his confidence, for his leadership skills, for his college applications. Justin had watched the presentation in awe, impressed by the quality of the spreadsheet and overwhelmed by the intensity of the praise.

He'd still turned it down.

The captaincy had ended up going to Jonesy, a forward on the Ransom's line. He was a decent player, strong and feisty, but even Justin didn't think he wasn't perfect. In fact, a lot of Jonesy's imperfection stemmed from all the ways he was different from Justin - emotional instead of level-headed, quiet instead of open and friendly. But Jonesy was a safe pair of hands - Jonesy didn't have anxiety attacks and he wasn't struggling to maintain a grade point average that would get him into pre-med in the states. Jonesy didn't hate letting people down so much it physically hurt him.

So Justin put his head into his books and did his best to support his team on the ice, skating so hard that his body sometimes ached for days after a game. They barely made it into the finals that year, but Justin passed his exams with flying colours and minimal anxiety-caused intervention from Ife, and ended up with a full scholarship to Samwell. And he able to enjoy it without the stench of failing as captain, and letting his team down, being in his way.

And that was what mattered, right?

* * *

Jack orders for mandatory team bonding at the Haus after the end of year banquet. It's the last order Jack will give as captain, so the entire hockey team descends on the Haus, shredding suit jackets and ties (and pants and shirts and underwear, in Shitty's case) in order to be more comfortable. Ransom thinks Jack probably meant for it to be a quiet night with beers and pizza and movies, but Shitty makes tub juice, and Farmer - still gushing about Chowder's Carslile award - brings half the volleyball team with her and it ends up being a little bigger and wilder than expected.

It's can't quite be called a party, it's basically senior's bingo compared to a Kegster, but it's still big enough and loud enough that Ransom gets through two and a half bears before he realises that he hasn't seen Holster all night.

"Yo, Brah," he says to Lardo and Shitty, who are sitting together on the green Haus couch, their bodies pressed up close together. Ransom still doesn't know if they've worked their shit out and started dating yet - the whole team is this touchy feely. "You guys seen Holster?"

"I saw him head up to the attic a while ago," says Shitty, thoughtfully. "I haven't seen him since."

Ransom looks around the party, eyes searching for April. He finds her leaning against the wall, listening to March, who's animatedly telling a story.

"I don't think he had anyone with him," Lardo adds, as if she could read his mind. He wouldn't be surprised if she could, to be honest. He'd probably accept that as fact pretty quickly.

"Okay," Justin says. He hands the rest of his beer to Lardo. "Take this. I'm gonna go check on him."

Ransom slowly makes his way up the stairs to the first floor, and then to the attic. He pauses at the door. There's no noise from within, no sock (or jockstrap) on the door, but Ransom knocks anyway. Even though he lives there too, it doesn't seem right to just barge in.

There's a pause and then, "yeah?"

Ransom pushes the door open and his breath catches in his throat. Holster's sitting in his bunk, tucked up in his blankets. He looks small, which feels so incredibly wrong because not only is Holster the biggest human that Ransom's ever met but his personality fills whatever space his body doesn't. Ransom's known Holster for three years, and he's never seen him look small.

Ransom doesn't like it.

"Hey, Holtzy," says Ransom, softly. He sits gently at the other side of Holster's bunk. "What's wrong, man?"

"Nothing's wrong," Holster says. Ransom raises an eyebrow at him. "No, really, Rans. Nothing is wrong, I just... wasn't expecting us to be made joined captains. I thought you definitely had it in the bag."

Ransom smiles at Holster's confidence in him. Ransom doesn't quite have it in himself, he was definitely expecting Holster to be voted in cleanly, but he can't object to being a captain if it's what the team and coaches think is best. Getting to do it with his best bro is just an added bonus.

'I mean, I don't think anyone really expected it," Ransom says. "A 50-50 split, right down the middle... That kind of shit could only happen to us."

Holster doesn't smile back. He doesn't say anything at all.

"It makes sense though," Ransom says. "Doesn't it, Holster?"

"Rans, I don't think I can do this," Holster whispers.

His blue eyes are so soft underneath his glasses, his face is so vulnerable, his voice is so quiet. It catches Ransom off-guard like being checked into the boards.

"Holtzy," Ransom says, seriously, leaning forward to rest his hand on Holster's massive thigh. "Adam, of course you can do this."

"I can't," Holster says. Ransom hates how defeated he sounds. "I'm not like Jack, or like you. I don't have anything to offer the team. I'm just going to let everybody down."

"Holtz..." Ransom starts before trailing off. He's not really sure what to say. It's not that Ransom's not used to feeling small and scared and inadequate. He knows those feelings strongly, intimately. He's just not used to them from Holster. How can Holster think he's inadequate? How can Holster not know everything he means to this team, to Ransom?

"Maybe you should just take the captaincy on your own," Holster murmurs.

"Holster," Ransom deadpans. "What the fuck, man?"

Holster stares off into the distance. "I'm just saying..." he starts.

"No, dude, what the hell?" Ransom says. He reaches out and touches Holster's jaw, turning his face to look at him. "How can you say you have nothing to offer? You already do so much for this team. You make excel sheets about the opposition teams strengths and weakness, and you go over plays every week with Jack. You even force Dex and Nursey to bond even though they're insufferable when they're fighting. You live and breathe hockey and you love this team, man. You're literally the best person to lead this team."

Holster's staring at him now, a mixture of awe and something else on his face. For the first time in his life, Ransom can't read him.

Holster shakes his head softly. "You did all that stuff too, man," he says.

"We did it together," Ransom says. "We make each other better, Holster. I'm not doing this without you."

Ransom reaches out and takes Holster's hand, linking their fingers together. It's not something new, they've held hands before; after they lost their last game, after Ransom bombed his English final, after Holster had a particularly bad phone call with his parents. Holster absent mindedly strokes Ransom's hand with his thumb.

"Aren't you scared that we're going to crash and burn?" Holster says. "Aren't you scared we're not going to make it?"

"Yeah," Ransom says, because he can't be anything but honest when it comes to Holster. "Dude, of course I am. My brain keeps coming up with ways this could go wrong and it fucking terrifies me."

"But you want to do this anyway?" says Holster.

Ransom shrugs. "There's a non-zero chance that you and I are going to be amazing at this," he says. "And we owe it to ourselves, and to our team, to try."

Holster takes a deep breath and nods. "Okay," he says. "Let's do it together."

Ransom gently squeezes Holster's hand. "The ECAC won't even know what hit them."

Without letting go of Holster's hand, Ransom throws his free hand out for a fist bump. Holster grins as he returns it and Ransom grins right back.

"Thank you, Ransom," Holster says, seriously. "Honestly, you're so good for me. I don't think I would have made it this far with out you."

"Come on, Holster," Ransom says, with a laugh. "You're the one that stops me from coral-reeling too much. You've probably literally saved my life, like, multiple times."

"You've done just as much for me, bro," Holster says. His face completely serious, his eye contact never failing. "I think you've probably done more."

For someone that has so many emotions, Holster's not usually the best at letting them out. But it's okay, because Ransom knows what he means anyway.

"I love you, Holtzy," he says, squeezing Holster's hand again.

Holster leans forward so that he can rest his forehead against Ransom's. Ransom's eyes flutter shut.

"I love you too, Rans," Holster says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of worried this is too Holster-centric for Ransom week but 1. Holster is a huge part of Ransom's life, I can't just ignore that and 2. I really wanted to show that Ransom is good for Holster and helps him through his own insecurities and bad moments, when we so often just see Holster taking care of Ransom.


	3. crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A time of intensive difficulty, trouble or danger.

When Justin was sixteen years old, he has his first exam-related breakdown.

There was no one else at home, Mom and Dad were at work and Ife at soccer practice, Dami was living at college in a whole other country. Justin curls into a ball at the foot of his bed and tries and fails to regulate his breathing.

He wasn't not even sure where it had come from, he wasn't used to worrying about exams when he had been naturally bright enough to get decent exam marks with minimal effort, but his counsellors had been talking about college plans and Justin had known his marks weren't quite good enough to get into pre-med and now he had five exams in the next two weeks and that's not enough time to learn five entire courses so he's not going to be able to get the scores he needs and he's not going to get into med school and his parents are going to disown him and he's going to end up living on the street and...

Ife had pushed through the door in a panic. Justin hadn't even heard her come home, but she'd evidently been drawn into his room by her brother's loud gasps for air. She hadn't known what to say to calm him, too young to understand the pressure of exams, but she'd smart enough to FaceTime Dami at Princeton. Ife had wrapped her arms around Justin's neck as he told Dami what's going on, and buried her face into his shoulder as Dami tried to calm him down and help him make a plan. Ife's physical comfort had been just as grounding as Dami's words.

His two sisters had helped him immensely over the next two weeks, making sure he ate and slept and didn't turn his brain into mush trying to cram it with facts and figures and equations. He'd found out that Ife had in fact inherited their mom's death stare when she forced him to stop spending time whining about how there wasn't enough time.

His results from that exam period had been slightly better than usual but Justin was mostly just relieved he'd made it through it in one piece. He'd desperately hoped that this exam-related anxiety wasn't going to be a thing...

* * *

Ransom bids Chowder goodbye on the stairs and walks up to the attic alone. It's empty of course, Holster's still studying for his Econ final in the library and won't be back until 5.30, so Ransom drops his bag next to the desk and drops into the chair. He feels good after his lunch with the Frogs and Farmer - he feels relaxed and satisfied in a way only the Frogs can make him feel - but he knows that it's time to get back to work.

He gathers up all his bio notes from where they're strewn around the table and places them into a folder, which he places gently on the floor to the side of the desk. He reaches into his backpack and pulls out his bio textbooks and stacks them neatly on top of the folder. Then he extracts his planner from his bag, grabs one of the gel pens Nursey gave him for his birthday and writes a sparkly, green tick next to this morning's biology exam. It feels like a weight off his shoulders.

He hums as he looks at the rest of the time-table. He's ahead of schedule so far, lunch had wrapped up pretty quickly since Dex and Nursey had wanted to grab good seats at Founder's before it filled up after lunch. In ten minutes he's supposed to start on his calculus revision - he'll do that for the next three and a half hours, then he'll have dinner, spend two hours finishing off his flash cards for organic chemistry and then head off to bed, letting himself celebrate finishing an exam by getting a proper night's rest.

He'd written it weeks ago, but it still sounds like an good plan. He does have his exams for both advanced calculus and organic chemistry on Friday but he's sure he's already dedicated enough time to studying them both and can afford to let himself get some more sleep. He quickly checks his timetable again and, yes, there's definitely enough time for both. His timetable is perfect.

Johnson had left a pile of past exam papers on nearly every subject behind when he graduated, often saying that the only real way to study maths was by doing. It was confusing, Ransom was pretty sure Johnson had been an English major so he wasn't sure where the past papers or the advice had come from, but doing past papers had been helpful for Ransom, so he just chalked it up to standard Johnson weirdness and didn't ask. He set a two hour timer on his phone, grabbed a notebook and started working.

The first three questions seemed relatively straightforward, and Ransom's hand raced across his paper to get his mental calculations out. The fourth question looked impossible. Ransoms stared at it for a moment, feeling his heartbeat quicken, before flipping the page and getting started on question five. Jack had told him that it was good to do what you knew and understood first, and worry about the hard things later. It had definitely helped his exam scores when he could do what he knew with a level head, and descend into panic mode only when he needed to.

When Ransom's alarm goes off, he's properly finished five of the eight questions and had at least a partial go at the other three. Five from eight isn't a promising score but rather than worry about that, Ransom pulls out the answer sheets and starts marking his paper in fluorescent orange gel pen. Lardo always tells him it's easier to feel like you've done worse than you actually have, and she's right - he gets the answers mostly right and ends up with an 85% on the paper.

It's still not quite good enough, but Friday is still three days away, and even with the organic chemistry study, and the time he's set aside for eating and sleeping and relaxing, Ransom knows he can pull it up. It seems like he knows most of the course well enough, there's just a few more things he needs to practice and now he at least knows which chapters he needs to redo.

As he opens his textbook to the chapter that question four was based on, the door creaks open gently and Bitty tiptoes in, placing a piece of pie and a glass of water on the desk beside Ransom. Wordlessly, he starts to sneak back out, but Ransom grabs his wrist.

"You should be studying," Ransom says, his voice gravelly from his silence. His planner had set aside two hours for dinner, which can only mean that Bitty has an exam in the morning and he and Holster are in charge of making sure the Haus gets fed.

"Now don't you go worrying about me," Bitty drawls. His Georgian accent is so much stronger during exams. "You know that baking helps me."

Ransom nods because he does know. Everyone on the team has their own methods to prevent having a crisis during exam week; Ransom plans, Bitty bakes and Holster gets thrown out of the library for accidentally singing along to the show tunes blasting through his earbuds.

"Well Holster and I are getting dinner tonight, okay?" Ransom says, gently, rubbing his thumb against Bitty's wrist. "You need to study."

"You sure you have time for that, honey?" Bitty asks. "It's really no trouble."

"Bits," Ransom says. "I put it in my planner, so that's literally what I need to be doing tonight. You just focus on blitzing that exam tomorrow, okay, bud?"

"Okay," Bitty says, because he understands the importance of the planner. "Thanks, Ransom."

Bitty leaves the room, and Ransom lets himself fall into Chapters 7, 12 and 15. Reading and making notes and trying to replicate the proofs in a way that he understands. He even manages to get all three problem sets done, and is just finishing marking off the last question in sparkly purple gel pen when Holster steps into the room. Ransom checks the clock; it's 5:30pm exactly. Thank god that Holster respects the planner too.

"Hey Ransom," says Holster, dropping his hand on Ransom's bicep and squeezing gently. "Finish that problem you're on and we can step out for dinner."

He doesn't leave any room for argument, for Ransom to argue that he can't afford the break, that he needs to study. Holster understands the importance of sticking to the goddamn planner.

Ransom wouldn't have asked to stay even if Holster had given him the option though. He trusts the planner and, by extension, he trusts himself. He's got this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I procrasted writing this for so long because, even though I loved the prompt, I just couldn't make it work. Eventually, I came up with Ransom's exam crisis-prevention plan and I really like it! I do think Ransom would schedule his studying and his breaks to feel better about exams, and I love him taking on board advice from different team members.
> 
> Also this fic made me weirdly nostalgic for like... university exam seasons and diving into maths past papers and... I think I'm getting old.


	4. cacoethes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An irresistible urge to do something inadvisable.

When Justin Oluransi was fourteen years old, he met Delilah Aduba.

Delilah moved to Toronto from New York City, just in time to start high school with Justin's grade. She was beautiful, almost as tall as Justin with rich dark skin and long skinny braids that fell halfway down her back, held back from her face with a bright blue ribbon. Justin had been halfway in love with her from the moment he saw her.

She was in most of Justin's classes - she sat in front of him in biology, and behind him in chemistry and two seats to his right in mathematics. She was very intelligent - she asked a lot of questions, turned in a lot of extra credit and usually tied with Justin for the first in their class. Her older brother was on the hockey team with Justin - his name was Nicholas and he was also beautiful, but not as beautiful as his sister- and so Delilah was often in the stands for practice and their games. She sat close to the glass and cheered loudly during games, occasionally yelling insults at the ref when he gave penalties against them.

Justin liked her more than he liked anyone else he'd ever met and, like most teenagers, was pretty damn obvious about it. Mitzy, Justin's best friend and on-ice partner, would shove him into the boards and chirp him whenever they saw Delilah in the stands during a game. Ife, who was eleven and not even at Justin's school yet, would tease Justin about his crush so mercilessly that Mom and Dad had to stage an intervention. Dami - who was a senior and therefore currently being crushed by a mountain of college applications - even threatened to tell Delilah, except she promised she wouldn't be that mean but honestly, J, you really should tell her.

Justin, however, hadn't even talked to Delilah. Sometimes he saw her standing alone before class, or sitting in the stands after practice, and thought about going over to her, introducing himself and just doing something but then he thought of all the ways it could go wrong, all the ways Delilah could reject his friendship or feelings or whatever and he'd turn around and keep walking.

Delilah moved away at the end of the year. She probably hadn't even learned Justin's name.

* * *

The day after the Falconers beat the Bruins in Boston, Haus 2.0 hosts a boozy brunch for the visiting SMH team and whatever Falconers Jack wants to bring along. Jack had texted early to let them know that Tater would be there, so Ransom had spent most of the morning freaking out, trying not to freak out, and telling the group chat that he wasn't freaking out and would, in fact, actually speak to Tater at brunch so shut up, Pacer.

He'd meant it too. He'd really thought he was actually prepared to see and talk to Tater, but then he'd walked out from his and Holster's shared room to see Alexei freaking Mashkov in his living room, squished next to Snowy on the slightly-less-than-disgusting green couch Shitty had bought for the Haus, a cup of brunch-time tub-juice in his hand, looking just as beautiful as ever and that plan flew directly out the window.

Ransom glances around the room for Holster. Holster would know what to do, he was responsible for kick-starting at least half of Ransom's relationships and hook-ups back at Samwell. Unfortunately, Holster's nowhere in sight. Ransom pushes open the door to the kitchen, but Holster's not in there either. Bitty's there with the Frogs, though, and they all look up as Ransom walks in.

"Justin Oluransi, what the heck are you doing in my kitchen?" Bitty says, with a smirk. "I thought today was the day you finally talk to Tater."

Dex and Nursey both obnoxiously snort with laughter. Chowder hides his smile behind his hand. Just for the record, Chowder's always been Ransom's favourite teammate. He regrets ever talking to the rest of them.

Ransom sighs and pours himself a cup of tub juice. "Firstly, it's my kitchen since you don't even live here," he says. "And secondly, I can't find Holster."

Bitty's face morphs into something strange, Ransom reads it as sympathy which doesn't really make sense given their situation. It must just be the nerves throwing off Ransom's intuition. In any case, Bitty dives for his phone on the table and immediately starts texting. The frogs frown at Ransom.

"Why does it matter if you can't find Holster?" Nursey asks.

"I don't know," Ransom says. "Mashkov is sitting there talking to Snowy, I feel weird to just interrupt them, especially since I've never met either of them. I just feel like Holster could help make it less awkward."

"I'll come with you, Rans," Chowder says, enthusiastically. "I want to talk to Snowy about last night's game anyway. You know, that puck he stopped in the 3rd? That was 'swawesome! "

Ransom tilts his head to look at Chowder. He honestly can't tell if Chowder's offer cements his place as Ransom's favourite or jeopardises it. Before he can respond though, Bitty pushes two plates of pie into Ransom's hands.

"Blueberry is Tater's favourite," Bitty says, casually, pushing two more plates toward Chowder. He shepherds them both out of the room as Nursey and Dex laugh.

Ransom looks at Chowder and nods as the door closes behind them. "Thanks for helping out, C," he says.

Chowder grins, showing off all of his his bright, white, brace-less teeth. "Got your back, Cap," he says.

They walk over to where Snowy and Tater are sitting on the couch and Chowder clears his throat. "Bitty sent us over to give you pie," he says, pushing the plate into Snowy's hands and sitting down in the chair next to the couch. "My name's Chris Chow, I'm the goalie for the Samwell team and..."

The rest of Chowder's spiel is cut off because Tater smiles at Ransom and Ransom immediately has to dedicate all his energy to not running our of the room.

Why he had to become the exact stereotype of a useless bisexual, Ransom will never know.

"Is that for me?" Tater asks, gesturing to the pie.

"Uh, yes, ummm," Ransom trails off, not knowing what to call Tater. 'Tater' seems too friendly, but 'Mashkov' sounds way too formal and 'Alexei' just sounds contrived. He lets it go and pushes on. "It's blueberry. Bitty said that was your favourite."

"Little B is right," says Tater, taking the pie from Ransom's hands. Their fingers brush, and Ransom does not flinch... much.

Ransom shoots a look towards Chowder who nods encouragingly. "My name is Justin," Ransom says, sitting down. "It's nice to meet you."

"We've met before," says Tater, around a bite of the pie. "At the hockey house. You saw me, then ran off for day, you remember? I take photos of all your friends, even with your hat, I think? But you avoid me."

Ransom can feel his entire face heat up. He thanks God for giving him skin dark enough to make blushes not noticeable.

"I am only joking," Tater says, with a wink. "You probably had somewhere important to be. Zimmboni tells me that you are very smart and very popular guy."

Ransom chokes on his pie and makes a mental note to either kiss or kill Jack for talking about him to Tater.

"Jack exaggerates," says Ransom. He tries to take a bite of his pie but misses, smashing the blueberry filling against the corner of his mouth instead. His face burns up again, and he quickly pushes the pie into his mouth and wipes his hand over his face. Tater just grins at him.

"Zimmboni says you were friends with all Samwell students," Tater says. "He also says you were hockey captain and best graduate at Samwell and also have best cheekbones. He says you are so amazing so I ask Zimmboni why he date little B and not you."

Tater laughs and, yeah, Ransom's going to straight-up murder Jack. He doesn't even care if Bitty blocks his access to pie for the rest of his life.

"Oh, haha," Ransom says. He glances over at Chowder, trying to catch his eye and ask for help from this rapidly deteriorating conversation, but Chowder and Snowy are evidently in goalie mode and having a deep and meaningful discussion about pucks and can't be distracted from each other.

"Justin?" Tater asks.

"Yeah?" Ransom replies, distracted.

"Zimmboni is also telling that you are single," Tater says, quietly. "And maybe open to the idea of dating man?"

Ransom's eyes quickly flick back to Tater, who is watching him with an intense look on his face. It's the same look Ransom's seen Tater wear when they're in overtime on the ice. It's focused.

"Uh, yeah," Ransom says. "That... uh, both of things are true."

Tater smiles.

"Good to know," he says. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here lies Rans he FUCKING DIED.
> 
> Also, please spare a moment to picture actual hockey robot Jack Laurent Zimmermann awkwardly trying to wingman for Ransom.
> 
> Also, I'm not saying Holster was so fucking jealous he skipped a party in his own home but, uh, Holster was so fucking jealous that he SKIPPED A PARTY IN HIS OWN HOME.


	5. amicus fidelis protectio fortis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A faithful friend is a strong defense.

 

When Justin Oluransi was four years old, his mom gave birth to his baby sister.

Justin hadn't wanted a baby sister; he'd been adamant about not wanting it since his parents had sat him and Dami down in April and told them the news. He argued that he'd already had one sister - one who took up too much of Mom and Dad's time, and fought with Justin and upset him constantly - so why would he want or need another one? Dami, on the other hand, was thrilled that they were going to have another girl in the family, which only served to make Justin even more bitter. He was convinced Dami was going to turn the new baby into a minion of hers, specially designed just to torture Justin.

The baby was born in August, and Mom and Dad named her Ife. Dad had driven Justin and Dami to the hospital to meet her. Justin wasn't allowed to hold the baby, but he wouldn't have wanted to even if he could. She looked so weird, a tiny, bald, wrinkled, alien-like thing swaddled up in a blue blanket. Justin didn't touch her, no matter how hard Mom and Dad tried to make him. He didn't want anything to do with her.

Ife came home from the hospital after a few days. It meant that Mom was home a lot more, and therefore Justin could come home from preschool earlier, which was cool but it also meant that Mom spent most of her time in the baby's room, rather than with Justin or Dami, which wasn't cool at all. Having a baby at home also meant that Justin had to be so quiet! He wasn't allowed to watch tv too loudly, or yell while he was playing with Dami, or sing along to the Wiggles CD one of his aunties had bought from Australia anymore, because Ife was sleeping and she couldn't be woken. It's wasn't even like Ife did anything useful to make up for the inconvenience she caused, all she did was eat and sleep and poop and cry and ruin Justin's life!

She hadn't even been home for a week before Justin decided that he would never want anything to do with her.

* * *

It's not exactly late by the time Ransom and Holster get to Princeton, but it's dark enough that Holster has to use the flashlight on his phone to light the way from the parking lot to the block of student housing next door. Ransom double and triple checks that he's got the right dorm room before he knocks on the door.

Justin knows, intellectually, that Ife can't have changed that much since he last saw her, at her high school graduation six months ago, but the girl that opens the door looks so different from sister he saw in Toronto. She's wearing her hair loose now, and she's done her eyeliner in the same style that Lardo usually does, looking so grown up that Justin kind of misses the little girl that held his hand and followed him around the house when they were kids.

"You're late," Ife deadpans. She crosses her arms and leans against the door, looking so much like their mother that Justin actually flinches in surprise.

"We would've been here sooner but this guy made us stop at some Broadway themed restaurant in New York," Justin says, jerking his thumb at Holster, who is standing behind him and grinning sheepishly.

Ife's eyes light up. "Holster!" she yells, pushing past Justin to leap at Holster, who drops his duffle bag so he can catch her in his arms.

"How you gonna treat this white boy better than you treat your own brother?" Justin asks. He's trying to sound offended, but actually very pleased that he asked Holster to come with him. "This is some mad disrespect, baby girl."

Ife sticks her tongue out at him, but detaches herself from Holster and wraps her arms tightly around Justin's waist. "Hi, J," she says, quietly.

Justin leans down to rest his cheek against her hair. "Hey, Ife," he says, just as quietly.

She releases him and pushes him into the room with Holster following behind them. Her dorm room is a single, probably thanks to the amazing scholarship she got, decorated with an unmade bed, a messy desk and a cork board of timetables, family photos and posters of celebrities Justin is too old to recognise. There's a door leading to a bathroom, and, next to it, an air mattress shoved into the corner, where he and Holster will spend the night. Justin and Holster dump their bags next to the air mattress and drop down onto it.

"So since it's so late," Ife says, with a pointed glance at Holster, "I think our first concern should be getting food. There's this incredible kosher pizza place that you've got to try, Holtzy, but they don't deliver and it's a fifteen minute drive from campus so I don't know if we should get it today or for lunch tomorrow since you're both probably tired from the drive."

"Girl, you had me at 'Kosher Pizza'," Holster says, pushing himself off of the air mattress. "I'll go and get some and we can eat it here and watch some Netflix or something, yeah?"

Ife nods. "Yeah, I'll get you their menu so you can punch the address in."

"I'll come with you, bro," Justin starts, shifting on the air mattress so that he can get up.

Holster shakes his head, "Nah," he says. He glances between Justin and Ife and smiles. "I got it, Rans."

Holster leaves, the door slamming behind him. Justin settles more comfortably on the air mattress and makes grabby hands at his sister until she rolls her eyes and drops down next to him. She practically curls into him, with one of her arms around his waist and her head buried in his shoulder. Justin throws his arm around her shoulder and pulls her closer to him.

"So, how's college?" Justin says, as casually as he can. He knows that Ife called him and wanted him to come and talk about this, but he still doesn't want to force her into opening up if she's not ready.

"We really diving right into this, Justin?" Ife says, with a forced laugh.

"Might as well with Holster out for the next half-hour," Justin says. "Of course, we can always tell him to fuck off tomorrow and talk then too."

"That's not fair to Holster," Ife says.

"It's okay, he knows he needs to give us some time alone," Ransom says. "I had to bring him with me though. I couldn't have survived the drive without him and, well, you've always been too soft for Holster."

Ife smiles, softly. "Holster's great," she says. "But you're better."

"Okay, now I know something is wrong," Justin says. "Spill, Ife."

Ife sighs. "College is hard, J," she says.

She pauses and Justin blinks, unsure of what to say in response to that. It's a pretty obvious statement. Justin could've told her that college was hard four years ago.

"I know that sounds obvious," Ife continues like she can read his mind. Not for the first time, Justin thinks that maybe she can. "But, like, high school was easy. Everything was so organised, and the teachers made sure you were doing your homework and keeping up and everything, but here you sit in a lecture theatre of like 200 kids and no one really cares about whether or not you're keeping up. And I'm not keeping up, Justin, I... there's just so much work and so little time to do it all! And like, it's so much pressure because you did pre-med whilst being one of the best defenseman in the NCAA and got valedictorian, and Dami was on the debate team and student council and graduated with offers to the top law schools in the country, and I'm here struggling to do even the bare minimum that's required of me."

Ife takes a deep breath. "And, on top of that, I'm so lonely! I don't know how to make friends in these huge lecture halls. Like, I'll say hi to someone one day and then, just, never see them again. I miss Toronto and I miss mom and dad and my friends! I just... I'm so bad at college, Justin. Sometimes I think I should just go home."

Justin turns to look down at her, and he's shocked to see that she's softly crying. He can feel his heart break cleanly in two, and has the irrational urge to beat up whoever devised the American college system. He tightens his arm around Ife's shoulders.

"Anything else to add, baby girl?" Justin asks, gently. "Or can I talk now?"

Ife huffs out a laugh. "You talking now would be great, Justin," she says.

"Okay, I get lecture theatres are big and intimidating, but don't feel like no one cares," Justin says, gently stroking Ife's arm with his thumb. "There's always people can help you. Your professors should have office hours, and your faculty should have a help centre for freshman with tutors and stuff that you can go to. We'll look up the timetables for them tomorrow and see when you can go, okay? That'll help you make some friends as well, although I can't see how making friends is a problem for you."

"We can't all meet our best bro for life at hockey practice days before college even started, Justin," Ife says.

Justin chuckles. "Well, no. But you've always been better with that kind of stuff than Dami and me - making friends, talking to people, you know? I guess you just gotta give it some time, keep trying to talk to people, and joining study groups and extra-curricular groups until you find people who click. And speaking of being better than Dami and me - which you are, by the way, in pretty much every way imaginable - college isn't a competition, Ife. You don't have to do the same things that Dami and I did, no one is expecting you to be a carbon copy of us. You just have to make sure that you do the best that you can do, at all the things you want to do."

"What if that's not good enough?" Ife asks, quietly. "Or what if I end up changing my mind about what I want to do."

"It will be, Ife." says Justin. "I know it may not always seem like it, but it will be enough. And it's fine if you change your mind about what you want to do. It doesn't invalidate what you've achieved, it just means you shift your goal, try again. That's what I'm doing right now, isn't it? Trying to decide what I really want to do? But I'm still okay, and all of my achievements are still important and valuable."

"It just seems so hard, J," Ife whines.

Justin laughs. "It is hard, Ife," he says. "But you can do it. I know you can."

Ife stares at him for a really long time, all of her insecurities on her face. "Okay," she says finally. "Okay, I trust you, I guess it's just going to take some time for me to get used to... you know... everything."

"That's okay," says Justin, leaning down to rest his cheek in her hair. "You can take as long as you need, baby girl. I'm here for you."

There's a knock on the door. "It's me," Holster yells from outside. "I've got kosher pizza and it smells fucking delicious!"

Ife runs her hand under her eyes and gets to her feet. "I've got to fix my face," she says.

"Can't have Holster see you with a messy face," Justin says, solemnly, as he gets to his feet. Ife hits out at him. "I'll get the door."

Ife nods. She hesitates for a moment before wrapping her arms tightly around Justin's waist. "Thanks, J," she says. "For everything."

Justin wraps his arms around her and squeezes, dipping down to kiss the top of her head. "Got your back, bro," he says, with a grin.

Ife giggles, and runs off to fix her makeup. Justin walks to the door and lets Holster in.

"Yo, she okay?" Holster asks, softly.

Justin smiles, looking toward the direction Ife had run off in. "Yeah," he says. "She will be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whilst writing this I realised that Ife is only one year younger than Foxtrot which means two things 1. Foxtrot probably definitely reminded Ransom of his sister and 2. I can ship Ife and Ford who would be fucking adorable!
> 
> I also realised today that Ransom Week is eight days, not seven, so R.I.P. me, I guess.


	6. vires acquirit eundo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it gains strength as it goes

When Justin Oluransi was eight years old, he started playing hockey.

Justin had known from a young age that he wanted to be a hockey player. Hockey had always been a big deal in the Oluransi household. Dad has been a fan of the Toronto Maple Leafs since his family had moved to Canada when he was a boy. Mom only converted to hockey when she got married, but she quickly became a louder and more intense supported than dad was. Dami, Justin and Ife had all been exposed to hockey from birth, falling asleep next to the tv, dressed in leafs jerseys, while uncles and aunties and parents cheered loudly during game watching parties.

He was seven when he'd first asked his parents if he could play, but they hadn't allowed it, saying that the sport was too dangerous, and he was still too young. So, when he was eight, Justin had presented his case again, this time with excel spreadsheets, column charts and PowerPoint slideshows analysing everything from the cost of hockey equipment, the safety of the sport itself and the impact of long-term sports extra-curriculars in life expectancy and college applications. The facts were indisputable, and Mom had enrolled Justin in the local kids team the next day.

Justin had walked into his first hockey practice with a spring in his step, feeling like his life was just starting.

One hour later, Justin had walked out of practice with several bruises, a few aching bones and a crushed spirit.

He'd asked his mom if he could quit on the car ride home. Mom said that he couldn't quit after one practice, not after they'd spent all that money on equipment and registration. He had to stick with it for at least the season, and they could re-evaluate before the next season.

Justin had resigned himself to a whole season of torture.

* * *

Holster, Shitty and Ransom simultaneously groan as they drop onto the couch. Ransom closes his eyes and leans against Holster's shoulder, ignoring Holster's groan of pain. Every single muscle in Ransom's body aches. He can't believe how out of shape he is, how he can possible be in this much pain after only one hour.

"I'm never moving from this couch," Holster groans, dramatic as always.

"I wonder what I'd need to pay Bits to convince him to come and be our live-in chef and hand feed me meals so I'd never have to move," Shitty says. "He's dating Jack Zimmermann, he doesn't need a degree."

"Yeah, but also, he's dating Jack Zimmermann so he doesn't need our money," Ransom points out. "We could ask Poindexter? He's like more than half as good as Bitty and he'd do pretty much anything if we paid him well enough."

"Fine for exploiting Poindexter's money problems," Shitty says, lazily. He leans over to rest his head against Ransom's shoulder, and Ransom winces as the weight of Shitty's head settles on his protesting muscles. "But also, like, I'm totally up for exploiting that. Lards, can you grab my phone so I can call that grumpy ginger fucker?"

From somewhere behind them, Lardo snorts. "Y'all are such fucking babies."

"Fine for 'y'all'," Shitty, Holster and Ransom chorus in monotone voices.

"Fine for being fucking NCAA division one athletes that can't even handle a simple one hour dance class," Lardo snaps back. Ransom can see her eye-roll even with his eyes closed.

"Not only have I been graduated for nearly two fucking years - in which I have been doing law like a fucking nerd might I add - but I was on the third-string at Samwell, so I was never exactly the picture of athletic prowess" Shitty says. He pauses and then adds. "Also I'm white so I was not made for dancing."

Lardo snickers. "What's your excuse then, Oluransi?" she asks.

"It's Zumba," says Ransom, with a shrug. "It's literally dancing for white people. I'm not supposed to be good at it. And besides, Holster and I aren't NCAA athletes anymore either. We stopped playing like eight months ago."

Holster hums. "Yeah, the days of being perfect athletics specimens are long behind us," he says.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen," Lardo says. "If only the swallow could see the prestigious hockey co-captains now."

"Fine for laughing at us right now," says Ransom. "We're literally dying, Larissa."

"Lards takes pleasure in other people's pain," Shitty explains.

"If that's how you all feel maybe I'll stick these ice packs back in the freezer then, eh?" Lardo singsongs.

  
'Fine for 'eh',' Ransom thinks as he opens his eyes to see Lardo sitting on the coffee table in front of him, grinning widely, three brightly coloured ice packs in her hands.

"Lardo, truest of bros, light of my life, queen of my heart" Ransom says. "Have I ever told you how much I love you and appreciate having you in my life?"

"Okay, shut up," Lardo says, but she's blushing and grinning as she throws the ice packs at them anyway. "That's gross."

Ransom puts his down on his thigh and sighs at the relief it brings. It makes him think of his mom icing down his injuries after his first failed hockey practice.

"Well, at least that's over and we don't ever have to go back there again," says Holster.

Ransom frowns as he thinks about that, creating a spreadsheet of pros and cons in his mind. Sure, he's in a lot of pain, but the Zumba class had actually been kind of fun. Ransom hadn't been doing much exercise since graduation, often neglecting his morning run for an extra hour of sleep, and his body and mind could probably benefit from a guaranteed hour of exercise and endorphins each week. It'd be also nice to be able to hang out with Holster, Lardo and Shitty all together- despite living together, the four of them hardly ever had any time to just sit and chill.

"I think we should stick with it," he says.

"Justin," Holster deadpans. "How could you do this to me? This is a top-ten anime betrayal, brah. Fine for being a traitor."

"I'm just saying that it'd probably be a pretty good group activity," Ransom says, rolling his head to look at Holster. He counts his reasons on his fingers, "We'd get a workout in, get to actually hang out together for once, and get a guaranteed break from work and study or whatever Lardo does all day."

"Fine for implying I don't do things," Lardo protests. "Also, what you just said about hanging out together? That's gay, Rans."

"Fine for stereotypes," says Shitty, automatically.

"Overruled," Holster and Ransom say in unison.

"Yeah, shut up, Shits," says Lardo. "Literally everyone in this Haus is bi except for you."

Holster rolls his eyes. "Okay, but, like, Rans - I see your points but like, surely there's better, less painful things we could do to satisfy all those points?" he says. "Like running, or being punched in the face?"

Ransom ignores Holster's theatrics. "I think we should stick with it," he says. "We're not quitters and, besides, maybe we'll learn to be good at Zumba. It's not like we were born good at hockey, we all had to learn."

"I actually came out of the womb already in skates," Holster says.

"You're a dumbass, Birkholtz," Lardo sighs. "But, like, I obviously think you guys should stick with it."

"I'm in if Rans is in, I guess," says Shitty.

"You're in it for Lardo, actually, Shits," Holster says, reaching over Ransom to poke Shitty hard in the arm. "But I guess, I'm in if you all are. I will suffer in the name of this Haus and this friendship."

Ransom smiles and holds his hand out for a first bump. Holster returns it.

"Don't worry about it, Holtzy," Ransom says, snuggling into Holster's side. "We're going to be so fucking great at Zumba."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ironically this chapter is titled/from the prompt 'it gains strength as it goes' but this story loses strength as it goes so there's that.
> 
> This is just some quick, short, plotless, Haus 2.0 fluff today since 1. writing is hard, 2. I have to go back to work tomorrow after the long weekend which is sad and 3. I've spent way too many hours today watching movies.


	7. grit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> courage and resolve; strength of character

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: people being dicks about Jack's overdose and the ZimBits kiss.

 

When Justin Oluransi was ten years old, he was friends with the popular kids at school.

They were the standard prep school popular boys - sporty, rich and mean. They picked on almost everyone, from Isabella Garcia who beat Chad Samuels in the 100m sprint, to Zeke Powers who had gotten Chad Jones busted for cheating in a English pop-quiz in the third grade. They even used to pick on Justin, who was quiet and awkward and nerdy for most of his childhood, but they eased up once Justin joined their hockey team. He let them copy his homework too, which obviously helped his cause.

Justin had always known that they weren't good kids - Mom had forbid him from hanging out with them after school and Dami, who was in the same grade as Chad Miller's older sister Tiffany, had been warning Justin about them for years. But even though he knew better, Justin was a ten year old boy, who just wanted to feel cool and popular and accepted by his friends and teammates.

Justin had walked into the school change rooms one afternoon to find Zeke Powers shoved into a locker. Zeke had told Justin that Chad Anderson had pushed him into the locker, because Zeke had refused to let Chad Wilson cheat off his maths test that morning. Justin had felt disgusted and guilty about the Chads behaviour, and had apologised to Zeke.

Zeke had liked Justin and had told him about the plan to stand up to the Chads, to stop them from bullying the school. Zeke and Isabella were going to go to the principal with several other students to tell him about the Chad problem. Zeke said that they could really use Justin's help.

Justin almost said yes, but then he imagined how Chad Taylor would check him into the boards at practice if he found out that Justin had betrayed them. He told Zeke that maybe he and Isabella had better go alone.

He tried to help Zeke and Isabella out as much as he could after that, helping them up after the Chads had pushed them down. They still never forgave him.

* * *

Justin's team doesn't usually hang out after work, but they decide to get drinks one Friday to celebrate getting a new guy on the team. The new guy was tall and lanky, with sandy blonde hair and freckles. He'd transferred from the San Jose office to Boston with his girlfriend. He'd introduced himself to Justin on Monday, but Justin can't remember his name. He thinks it might have been Chad.

The guy looks like a Chad.

Justin frowns at his phone. Holster was supposed to join them too, but his team is running behind on something and he's still at work, which means Justin has to deal with this social situation on his own. Luckily, the team is too busy hazing the new guy to talk to Justin too much - asking maybe-Chad questions about everything from his favourite excel function (they're consultancy nerds) to his hometown to his childhood pets.

"What's your favourite sport?" asks Fiona, the team supervisor. She's on her third cider, but she doesn't seem too affected by it. Justin likes her; she reminds him of Lardo.

"I like a lot of sports," says maybe-Chad. Justin rolls his eye at the cop out answer. At least it wasn't lacrosse. "But I played hockey in college, so I guess that's always going to be a favourite of mine."

Justin quickly drops his gaze back down to his phone, hoping no one pulls him into this conversation. He really couldn't afford to fight with his coworkers and lose this job. Even so, the muscles in his body have involuntarily tensed, he feels stretched out like a rubber band ready to snap. He hates that hockey makes him feel this way now, hates that hockey conversation always goes down one particular, kinda homophobic route.

He doesn't hate Jack and Bitty for it - he could never. He just wishes it didn't have to be like this.

"Oh, Justin played hockey in college too," says Jason. Justin barely suppresses his groan. "You guys are probably a similar age, maybe you guys played together?"

Justin looks up just as maybe-Chad looks over at him, the rim of his beer bottle hovering near his mouth. Maybe-Chad smirks at him.

Justin knows it's an unfair judgement but even his smile looks fucking douchey.

"Oh what team did you play for?" maybe-Chad asks, leaning back in his chair and staring at Justin. "I played for Quinnipiac. Winger."

'Fucking typical Quinnipiac goons,' Justin thinks. He takes a deep breath before speaking. "I played defense for Samwell," he says.

Maybe-Chad's grin turns feral. He raises one of his in groomed eyebrows at Justin.

"Samwell?" he repeats. "So you played with Zimmermann?"

Alarm bells start blaring in Justin's head. He doesn't like where this conversation is heading. He thinks of Nursey and tries to chill. "Yeah, I did," he says. "He was my captain for three years, got us all the way to the finals. I helped captained the team once he graduated."

He hopes he's put enough respect for Jack into his voice that maybe-Chad backs off. But then again, maybe-Chad doesn't look smart enough to know when to quit.

"So tell us the truth, Justin," drawls maybe-Chad, "did Zimmermann actually captain that team or was he just your famous figurehead who left others to do the real work while he snorted coke and slept with his teammates?"

Justin was on his feet in seconds. He leans across the lunch table and grabs a fistful of maybe-Chad's shirt in his fist. "Don't you fucking ever talk about Jack Zimmermann like that again, asshole" he says.

"Oluransi," Fiona says, a warning note in her voice. Horrified at his impulsive decision, Justin lets go of maybe-Chat takes a step back.

"Sorry, Fi," he says. "That was too far."

"Damn right it was too fucking far, man!" maybe-Chad yells, running a hand down his now-wrinkled shit. "I was just asking. We all know what Zimmermann is like."

"You don't fucking know anything," Justin growls. "Jack's never done coke in his life. He didn't spend his free time at Samwell partying or doing drugs, he fucking watched history documentaries and took photos of the lake and came up with hockey strategies. And, like, also, who really fucking gives a shit if he's bi? It has nothing to do with anyone except Jack and Bitty. And, you know what? They both have more love in their little fingers than you have in your entire body. They are twelve times the person you will ever be."

"Yo, calm down, Oluransi," Mike says. "Zimmermann isn't here, you don't have to defend him."

Justin turns around to glare at Mike, the traitor, who's on his fourth beer and is redder than Dex ever got. Mike's always been a chill coworker to have, but Justin suddenly never wants to speak to him again.

"Jack doesn't need to be here for me to defend him," Justin says. "He's my captain, and he's my friend, and I won't let slimy little assholes like this guy talk shit about him."

"Looks like Zimmermann and Samwell turned you gay, man," mutters maybe-Chad.

"Wow, good guess, asshole, but I actually liked dick long before I was in a locker room with Jack Zimmermann's," Justin says.

There's a pause as Justin realises what he's just said. That he's just come out to his team, at least one of which is a homophobic jack-ass. He stares at maybe-Chad with wide eyes. Maybe-Chad stares back in an equal state of shock.

There's suddenly a warm body behind him, a strong hand on his arm. "Yo, Rans," says a familiar voice behind him. When did Holster even get here? "What's going on, man?"

Justin looks at Fiona. "I want this homophobe off my team," he says, seriously.

He grabs Holster and pulls him out from the bar. Once outside he leans against the wall. He's crying, he realises - angry and hurt that anyone could treat Jack and Bitty like this.

"Well that's one way to come out to your team," Justin says, with a weak laugh.

Holster frowns. He reaches up to wipe the tears away from Justin's eyes. "You okay, buddy?" he asks.

Ransom gives Holster a small, watery smile. "I'm okay, Holtz," he says. "But do you think we could skype Jack when we get home? I wanna tell him how much I love him."

"Fucking gay Canadians," Holster says, but he smiles as he wraps an arm around Justin's shoulders and leads him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I don't know if this is good problematic or problematic problematic, I started this at 10pm instead of going to sleep and I didn't proof read it I just wanted Ransom to start a fucking fight for Jack, okay? That's all I wanted.
> 
> I'm blaming the lateness of the hour and the rush for the terrible Chad joke as well #everyoneisachad


	8. novis initiis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> new beginnings

 

When Justin was seventeen years old, he started applying for colleges.

It was very stressful, even with the help of excel and the whiteboard in his bedroom. Justin had to decide which school was best for him, considering every little thing, including the school's reputation, the quality of the pre-med course, the impact it would have on his likeliness to get accepted into a good grad school, the hockey program, the campus life and, perhaps most importantly, the distance from home and the people he loved.

Justin had known that going to college would mean having to grow up, and he'd honestly been looking forward to college in the US ever since Dami had gone to Princeton four years ago. But when he was on the precipice of leaving, the thought of leaving terrified him. He was just a baby, he wasn't ready to move out! He didn't know how to survive without hugs from his mom or breakfast pancakes from his dad. He didn't know how to be alone yet.

So he applied to schools where he wouldn't be alone. He applied for Harvard, where Dami would start grad school the following year so he could be guaranteed his sister by his side through the college. He applied to Yale, where his old hockey captain Fitzy had just started, and check people into the boards with him for three years. He applied t Brown, where his current girlfriend Tessa was planning to go, so that they could see if this thing between them was really built to last.

Mrs. Holloway, his school guidance counsellor, has suggested Samwell, thinking it would be a good fit for him. Ransom, and the various excel spreadsheets he made, had to admit she had a point. Samwell ticked off a lot of his boxes - it was an Ivy League school with a well respected pre-med program, a highly funded and talented hockey team, plenty of scholarship opportunities and what sounded like a pretty awesome school culture. The only problem? It was eight hours away from Toronto and Justin didn't know anyone there.

The thought alone was terrifying.

Mrs. Holloway had made him send off an application anyway, arguing that it was better to have too many choices than too few and reminding him that he didn't have to go to Samwell just because he applied there. Justin hadn't protested too much, he didn't think they'd accept him anyway.

* * *

Justin's parents had, of course, been thrilled about his decision. Ife had been overjoyed since New York City was much closer to Princeton than Boston was. Dami had called as soon as she'd heard, saying how proud she was that he made this decision, on his own, with minimal panicking. He hadn't told her about the nights he spent hidden under his blankets freaking the fuck out but... he supposed that the thought still counted.

The thing was, it had been so easy to tell his biological family. It was going to be damn near impossible to tell his other family.

"I feel like we're in trouble," says Lardo, from where she's squished between Shitty and Holster on the green couch. "Rans, are we in trouble?"

"Whatever happened was Holtzy's fault," says Shitty.

"Fine for being a dickhead," snaps Holster, glaring at Shitty over Lardo's head.

"That's not an actual fine-able offense, Birkholtz," says Shitty, holding up one finger. "Lucky for you really. You'd be broke as fuck if it was one."

Ransom can't help but smile at them. They're ridiculous, but he loves them so much. He's going to miss them more than he could ever truly describe.

"No one's in trouble, you fuckers," says Ransom. "I just... have an announcement to make."

He's expecting more joking and chirps, hilariously incorrect guesses of what the announcement may be, but his friends all fall silent, their faces suddenly serious and concerned. Ransom winces. His voice must have given him away.

"What's wrong, bro?" Holster asks, leaning forward to rest his huge, warm hand on Ransom's thigh.

God, Ransom's going to miss this.

"Nothing's wrong," says Ransom. "I, uh, decided I actually do want to go to med school. I mean, Consultancy isn't really for me, I wanna get back into all the stuff I was doing at Samwell. I want to be a doctor - a paediatrician actually, I think. I just needed some time away from the stress of study to realise it."

There's a pause, as the three of them stare at him and process his words. He supposes it must be a shock, since he'd never even hinted at thinking about med school to any of them before now. Shitty, of course, recovers first.

"Fine for withholding information, you gorgeous Canadian fucker," he says. "That's fucking 'swawesome, brah, congratulations!"

"That sounds perfect for you, Rans," says Lardo, smiling and nodding at him. "You're gonna be such a good paediatrician."

"I don't want to say I told you so," says Holster. "But for the record, I did."

Ransom rolls his eyes. "Yes, Holster," he deadpans. "You were correct for once in your life. Congratulations."

Holster grins. "So, where's your spreadsheet, dude?" he asks. "What are the top contenders? It's too late for this semester, but do you think you could start for Spring semester?"

Ransom winces. He can't help himself. This is the hard part.

"Bro?" Holster asks, because of course he noticed. "What?"

"I've already applied?" Ransom says. It's not a question, even if his voice presents it as one. "I'm going to the NYU school of medicine. Uh, in New York City, obviously. I start in August."

"This August?" asks Lardo.

Ransom nods. "Yeah, I'm planning to move down at the end of July, so that gives me a month until I have to move. I'll help you guys get a new flatmate if you want, I don't want to drive your rent up and inconvenience you..."

"Oh, shut up, Rans," says Shitty, waving him off. "The rent will be fine. I'm just so fucking proud of you man. Growing up and spreading your wings and living your dream and shit."

Shitty launches himself over at Ransom and hugs him, sitting on his lap. Ransom laughs as he hugs Shitty back. Lardo walks over and, impossibly, squishes into the chair too. "We're going to have one hell of a fucking farewell party for you, brah," she says. "And we're gonna visit you and the Frogs in New York all the fucking time."

Ransom kisses the top of her head and then looks over at Holster. Holster's a big guy, his personality usually takes up the entire room, but right now he looks the way he did after they were announced as captains. He looks small.

"Holtzy?" Ransom asks.

Holster looks up at him. His blue eyes are shiny and unreadable. "Sorry, I zoned out there," Holster says, with a smile. "I, uh, just remembered I gotta call my mom about something. I'll be right back."

Holster stands up and walks into their shared bedroom. Ransom sighs. "He's so dramatic," Ransom says. "I don't know what I was expecting."

"Rans..." starts Lardo.

Ransom squeezes her shoulder to cut her off. "Wish me luck," he says.

He carefully extracts himself from the Shitty-and-Lardo tangle of limbs and walks into his room. Holster's sitting on his bed, his head in his hands.

"Holtz?" Ransom says, leaning on the door. "What's up, bro? Talk to me."

"You mean like you talked to me?" Holster snaps.

Ransom flinches. "Adam," he says, quietly. "That's not fair."

"I know!" Holster says, loudly. He sighs and takes a deep breath, and his voice is much softer when he speaks again. "I know, I'm sorry, Rans. It's just... this decision can't have been easy for you, and it stings to know you chose to suffer through it alone instead of letting me help you."

"It had to be my decision, Holster," says Ransom. "I couldn't let my choice be swayed by what you thought I should do, or what my parents thought I should do. It had to be mine."

Holster nods. Ransom knows he's remembering their first and only fight in their relationship - when they'd fought over Justin dropping out of med school in senior year. "I know," says Holster. "I just... wanted to be there for you, I guess."

Ransom sighs and drops next to Holster on the bed. Their shoulders press against each other. "You've helped me so much, Holster," says Ransom. "You've taught me how to function like a regular person. But I have to learn to do things on my own too. I can't lean on you forever."

"Why can't you?" asks Holster. "We're best friends for life, Ransom. That means I'm here for you, no matter what you need from me. You don't have to do this alone."

"Except, you know, I do have to move to New York alone," says Ransom. "I guess Nursey and Dex will be around, but that's not really the same."

Holster's quiet for a long time. "What if you didn't have to move to New York alone?" he finally asks.

Ransom turns to look at him, eyes wide and heartbeat erratic. He's known Holster for five years now, but he's still so overwhelmed by just how good Holster is, how much Holster cares about him. "Holster," he says. "You can't."

"Why not?" says Holster.

"Because you have a life here, Holtz!" Ransom says. "You have friends, and a damn good job that you love and you're good at. You're going to get promoted in a few months. God, this is why I didn't even tell you until now. Holtzy, you can't just leave your life behind to stay with me."

Holster stares at him for a moment, before he puts his hand down to rest on top of one of Ransom's. "Why not?" he whispers.

And Ransom suddenly gets it.

He didn't get it before. He didn't get it when Holster didn't ask out Elena from HR even though she was exactly his type. He didn't get it when his parents kept asking about when he and Holster were going come and visit. He didn't get it when March said they were lying to themselves the whole time anyway, or when Tater had kissed his cheek, and said that, although Justin was beautiful and lovely and incredible, Tater couldn't date a man whose heart so clearly belonged to someone else.

Ransom didn't get it then.

But he gets it now.

"Oh," he whispers.

Holster moves his hand away and turns to look at him more fully. Hs eyebrows are slightly furrowed in concern, and Ransom doesn't know how he didn't get it until now.

"Rans?" Holster asks. "What's wrong, bro?"

"I think I just realised that I've been in love with you for years," Ransom breathes.

Holster's eyes widen. "I, uh... You think you realised? Or like you realised, but you're not sure if it's new or it's been years? Or, like, uh... you just think that you might be possibly..."

Ransom reaches out and wraps a hand around Holster's jaw, just to stop him from talking. "Adam," he says softly, stoking his thumb across Holster's cheekbone.

Holster's eyes flutter shut. "Yeah?" Holster replies. His voice is so soft.

Ransom's heart is beating so fast in his chest he thinks he's going to explode. He takes a deep breath. "I'm gonna need to know if it's mutual, buddy," he says.

Holster exhales and opens his eyes. "Justin," he says, softly, reverently. "Of course it's mutual. How could it not..."

Ransom cuts him off by kissing him, their mouths pushing together in perfect sync. Holster brings a hand up to the back of Ransom's neck, pulling him impossibly closer. It's insistent, but it's still soft and sweet and perfect.

Holster eventually pulls back, resting his forehead against Ransom's. "Are you sure I can't follow you to New York?" he laughs.

Ransom knows it's not that easy, knows that he can't just let Holster throw away his life to follow Ransom, but he also knows that they'll work it out together.

They are Ransom-and-Holster after all.

"I'm sure we can work something out," he says, and then ducks his head to kiss Holster again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT IS COMPLETED!
> 
> You know I didn't even want to go the Holsom route this fic? I wanted to be ambiguous and focus only on Ransom without being too focused on Ransom-and-Holster but surprise! I'm hella fucking gay and I wanted to write some sappy bros in love, apparently. Holsom invented true love, I'm sorry, I don't make the rules.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading. please leave a comment if you can and let me know what you liked (or even what you didn't), your favourite chapter (mine is chapter five, the one about Ife) or just say hi! I crave positive human interaction.
> 
> Also, shout out to nanlicia, the actual light of my life, who not only commented on every single chapter but also sent me a LOT of supportive messages and is low-key the reason I finished this story at all.


End file.
